


Torres' Breakdown

by prompt_fills



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fernando has a breakdown and Juan tries to help. Fernando/Juan is you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torres' Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/profile)[**footballkink2**](http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/), PP3, [this prompt](http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/9132.html?thread=2792108#t2792108):  
>  _Considering how difficult these weeks are for Torres, I'd like to read a fill in which he finally breaks down under the pressure he feels on him. He could start sobbing in the middle of training, or in the dressing room, or he could get really frustrated and destroy everything in his rage... You decide. Leave it to his baffled and worried team-mates to pick up the pieces._

Fernando knows it’s been getting worse. He chooses not to do anything about it because the longer he can ignore it, the less time he spends suffering. He tries to talk himself out of his misery – it only works for a couple of days and by the end of the week, he knows this isn’t going to end well.  
The worst part is that people just don’t get it – either they hate him and it makes him feel small and helpless, or they try to cheer him up and _that_ is even worse.  
He can deal with the hate; it’s inspiring and it makes him want to prove everyone wrong.  
But the people who try to make him feel better? Telling him how amazing he is and believing it... they usually are the trigger.  
That’s why he has to fight the wave of nausea when Juan slips his arm around his waist, pulls him close and whispers in his ear: “It’s not your fault.”

He manages a smile, though he isn’t sure how much convincing it looks. “Yeah, we’ll do better next time.”

Juan looks at him oddly. Fernando always feels like Juan can see deep into his soul. Then Juan pats his shoulder and lets him go. Fernando breathes out a sigh of relief and goes to take his shower in peace. The people who care about him, they always say all the wrong things.  
Then there are the press interviews after the match and he hears every variation of the answers he doesn’t want to hear.

He wants to stand up and yell at Frank when he overhears his _‘Fernando did what he could, he created several chances that we simply didn’t manage to change into any goals’_.

And then they are finally free to go, leaving the building. Fernando’s phone buzzes in his pocket and when he flicks it open, it’s a message from Sergio. It’s those few kind words that does it for him. One second he is angry and wants to hurl the phone against the wall of the building and the very next he is sliding down against that wall. Closing his eyes, he feels himself being pulled dangerously close to the edge of the pitfall.

 _Not now, not now, not fucking now,_ he prays.

A hand on his shoulder. “Nando? Are you okay?”

He nods, not opening his eyes. The grip tightens. “Nando? Are you feeling okay?”

“Leave me alone,” he manages to mumble. When he mumbles, it’s not so noticeable how much his voice trembles. He doesn’t dare opening his eyes. He needs a few seconds, maybe a few minutes tops to compose himself. If only they would stop fucking everything up.  
There is a mix of raising voices, then someone crouches down next to him – Fernando flinches away. It’s too much, it’s too much and he can’t stand their concern, he can’t smile and tell them he’s fine. Not now.

_They’ll think you’re a freak. They’ll realise how fucked up you really are and they’ll lock you up, dose you with pills so you will be like an animal, drooling on your bed for weeks, rocking slightly, unable to think._

Thinking is dangerous now and Fernando squeezes his eyes shut even more firmly but that doesn’t banish the images from his mind.  
He knows what he has to do, how he has to act to ease their worry. But he can’t do that now. Not now.  
A sob escapes him and there is a sharp intake of breath and someone is pulling him up and in that very moment, Fernando knows he’s screwed.  
He feels his resolution weaken and the shield disappears completely seconds later. They will never see him in the same way. He hates himself for that. If only he could shut up, stop crying – they...

“Shhh, it will be all right. Everything is going to be all right, I promise.”

 _It’s not, you don’t understand!_ Fernando's tears fall as he gasps for air. When he hears the wail escaping his lips, it only spikes his self-hate .

“Oh my God,” someone says.

Fernando wishes he had managed to keep quiet for a little longer so he wouldn’t have make their evenings worse with his breakdown. Another sob. More voices. Fernando falls apart.  
He raises his hands to cover his face, holds his palm against his mouth, trying to calm himself down. _Fuck it all._

“I’ll take him home.” The hands touching him draw back. “It was too much for him.”

“We should-”

Fernando lets out a pitiful moan. “I’m fine,” he croaks, the words muffled beyond recognition.

“You go, I’ll drive him home. C’mon, Nando.” He is forced to open his eyes – everything is a little fuzzy – and Juan is dragging him to the car.  
“No way I’m letting you drive,” Juan mutters and fishes out the keys from Fernando’s pocket.

Fernando can’t cry anymore. He lets himself be shoved into the car and lets Juan drive his car.  
When Juan unlocks the front door of Fernando’s house, Fernando panics for a moment because if Juan is going to sit down in the living room and insists they talk about it, Fernando would die of shame.  
Juan carefully locks the door behind them. He doesn’t wait for Fernando and heads to the bedroom. Fernando doesn’t smirk at the irony because he’s too shaken. How many times he imagined this? And none of the scenarios was anything like this.  
Juan shuts the blinds and he doesn’t switch on the lights. Fernando trails after him. He doesn’t deserve this. He feels the familiar ache in his heart. He feels guilty because this is something Juan shouldn’t be dealing with.

“I’ll be fine,” he tries. His voice sounds funny.

Juan exits the bedroom and Fernando waits for a while to hear the front door open and close again but it doesn’t happen.  
He waits a little longer and then he strips off his jeans and climbs into the bed. He pretends to be fast asleep when Juan walks into the bedroom much later. Juan pauses at his side of the bed, then he sits down. “Fernando?”  
Fernando holds his breath. _Please don’t ask me, please._

“I know you’re not sleeping. I’m not going anywhere. Try to get some sleep.”

Fernando opens his eyes and looks up at Juan – but Juan isn’t watching him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Fernando says quietly. He feels his eyelashes stick together with tears.

Juan shifts and reaches out to touch Fernando’s forearm. “We’ll make something up, don’t worry about that.” A slight squeeze and then the touch is gone.  
Fernando is surprised by how well Juan knows him.  
Juan goes to lie down on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t try to talk. Fernando is grateful and he feels the tears well up in his eyes again. He takes in a shaky breath.  
Juan moves his arm in between them, his palm up, offering.  
Fernando gulps and then he concentrates on breathing slowly, evenly. He soon hears Juan fall asleep.  
He stares up into nothing, building his walls again. He makes them stronger this time. Or so he tells himself.  
Juan’s fingers twitch; his hand is still in that awkward offering position. Fernando hesitates but eventually he presses his fingertips into Juan’s palm. It’s warm, human and comforting.


End file.
